SCH4 # 385 - SCH4 10th Analversary Hash Thursday, September 15, 2005 Hares: Hyper Hand Job & Hot Tub Slut Location: Newport High Parking Lot (under I-471) Attendees: I don’t know but it seemed like 30 or 40 people. 38 Special Aaron NHN Reiss Aching Ass Anal Vice Beat It Best Blow Body Fluid Hazard Burnt Lips Butt Digger Eager Beaver Eats It Raw Golden Showers Got Crabs? Gourmet Grave Robber Himen Hog Hot Tub Slut Hot Wax Me Officer Hyper Hand Job I'm Not Gay Jason NHN Glorius Katie NHN Orr Little Boy Blue Balls Mystic Blow Next Time I Cum Nichole NHN Stiene Organ Grinder Pecker Checker Pubic Zirconia Red Hot Chili Pecker Scum Sucking Fecal Feeliac Shoulda Pullout Soggy Sparks Son of a Nun Stinky Winkie stroX coX baXwards The Unalicker Vommitt Dog Whistle In My Pants Y=Pi It was a sullen kind of day when Crabs stopped by my mansion in Newport. The clouds were low and gray and the TV was predicting showers. Crabs let himself in because the staff had all been let go (A small scandal involving a person we found chained in our pantry.) After spending a good amount of time wandering around and putting stuff in his pockets, Crabs found me drinking in the study. We amused ourselves by speculating on today’s hash and doing imitations of a proposed Sergeant At Arms Assistant (Sit way too close to someone, poke your finger in their face, and shout repeatedly, “YOU SUCK YOU FUCKING FUCK!” Sling a little spittle too.). We figured the hash would be short and nasty. Short because of the late start and nasty because the hares would be on very familiar territory. (Hyper was weaned in a cornfield where the Party Source now stands and a teenage Slut used to hang around Our Lady of Providence Catholic Girls School (now the Hannaford Suites). On the way out the door we quizzed Grand Opening about a BN at our mansion but she just turned very red and refused to answer. The start of today’s hash was only about 4 blocks away, but it took quite some time to push Crabs car there. All the usual suspects were there and quite a few new folks. Red Hot Chili Pecker was seated on a gilded block of ice surrounded by sycophants and toadies. Visitors included some guys from North Carolina and their local friends – all in town for a wedding. These guys were wearing short dresses. The one guy with his naked rear end hanging out the bottom of the dress was asked by the police to go back to the hotel across the street and put some shorts on. The traffic on the highway above reduced all conversations to loud shoutings. I couldn’t hear a damn thing myself so if you came up and asked me anything and I gave you a big smile and a nod, it meant absolutely nothing. Butt Digger, injured in some kind of accident indoor activity, was to be walking today’s trail with Eager Beaver. Organ Grinder was loudly explaining that because of some kind of recent head trauma involving a ceiling fan and jumping on a bed, whenever he now drinks a beer, he gets an immediate headache. While he was demonstrating with a cheap beer, his wife popped up from behind a car and hit him over the head with a board and disappeared quickly. Beat It, drunk with glory after the Interhash, repeatedly exclaimed about how she’d “outrun that fucker Vommitt Dog” and “beat him to the BN’s” every time. We warned her three times about this loose talk and finally, sadly, we told her that we were going to turn her in for competitive behavior. Vommitt Dog, the only person I know with tanning bulb running lights on his car, did his usual excellent job getting the hares off and the pack readied and steadied. After the usual Father Abraham sing-a-long, we launched. Trail went east on 10th Street, finally headed south, crossed the railroad tracks, and went up the hill through the woods into the K Mart plaza. From there, the pack spread to all directions until trail was found heading back north to Newport’s 10th Street. BFH and Gourmet bit big on this jog to the south and spent the next 20 minutes running around in all the abandoned houses seized by the local government for the new Wal Mart Superstore. The hares then laid a noodley kind of trail north and east to WIMP’s house on a corner across from Newport Junior High. WIMP wisely kept the pack out of her glorious garden in the backyard (I peeked.) but allowed us to sit on her stoop. The pack drank beer and talked about all the pregnant fourteen-year-olds pushing baby carriages on the streets of Newport. No less than four Newport PD cruisers escorted us on today’s hash. Golden Showers thought he recognized an old girlfriend and ran off after her to the north. Thinking he was running true trail before the pack had left the BN, I chased after him, interested only in keeping him from further error. A fairly straight trail with checks but no false marks ran down to Newport On The Levee and then took a swing west. I knew where we were going here. Sure enough, there was a cooler of beer and water on my porch. My neighbors were nice enough to not call the cops this time although the men in dresses lounging on the lawn must have made them a little nervous. We ran the 3 blocks back to the start and found Crabs unconscious, lying in a large circle of peanut shells and empty cans. The hares had already departed to HTS’ place for the on-after. Hashers milled around but, thanks to Crabs, there was no beer, so they rounded up the vehicles and rode back across the river. Vommitt opened the circle by wishing all the visitors a, “Welm Warcum” but he didn’t have to drink. Hot Tub Slut, who had bought 10 cases of beer, also ordered 10 pizzas. The pizzas never did arrive so they had to be fetched by the every bubbly, cheerful, effervescent, good-looking, thrifty, resourceful, clever, intelligent, empathetic, but never snarling Waxy. (Is that good enough Waxy?) We drank beer in the intermittent rain underneath the low clouds. Jets taking off from the airport illuminated the rooftop scene with their landing lights. There was all kind of toasts, wordy honorifics that I can’t remember. Mostly glorifying those who have been hanging around since Day One of SCH4 and have no life. I think I also remember loud talk about bisexual jackets for those who had 200 hashes with SCH4. This sounds like some kind of pyramid scheme to me. At the rate I hash, I’ll be 65 years old by the time I get one. Here are the crimes that were on the notes handed to me by Marshal Una: MIA: Red Hot Chili Pecker; Burnt Lips; Next Time I Cum Leaving the BN early: Aching Ass & Golden Showers Missing 1st BN: I’m Not Gay & Crabs? Missing 2nd BN: Y=Pi; AV; Red Hot Chili Pecker; Gourmet; Organ Grinder Holding Hands: Pubic Zirconia & Nicole Analversaries: Son of a Nun – 10 Y=Pi – 15 Eager Beaver – 45 Next Time I Cum – 60 Butt Digger – 145 Body Fluid Hazard – 169 Eats It Raw – 185 Little Boy Blue Balls – 200 The circle closed and opened later for some kind of foolishness. There were many private parties going on during the circle so I don’t know what really happened on that rooftop. I left when the sexual tension was getting high and the beer was close to running out. WIMP was nice enough to offer a ride. After 30 minutes of standing out on the sidewalk she found her keys and then asked me to drive. On the way to my place, I ran her car up onto the sidewalks a few times to keep her awake enough to get home. Since she drove by me the next day while I was standing in the rain in front of the liquor store and didn’t offer me a ride, I guess she made it home okay. Grand Opening, miffed at not being called to warn of my late arrival (midnight), set the dogs on me and made me sleep on the porch. On-Out AA